


Bath time is Playtime

by lipeviez



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Attraction, F/F, Nipple Play, PWP, Power Struggle, Sexual Tension, angsty touching, some dubious consent but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2020-12-27 18:37:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21123407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipeviez/pseuds/lipeviez
Summary: Sansa has to serve out a week of attending to Daenerys’s nighttime routine as punishment for her continual antagonistic behavior towards her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn’t get this idea out of my head and needed to write it down before I let it distract me from the other fic I’m trying to finish. Just your basic PWP but not really all that explicit. Season 8 AU, no boat sex between Jon and Daenerys, some dubious consent but not really, just fun Sansa/Daenerys doing their power struggle thing.

Chapter 1

“Dammit, Sansa! How many times do we have to argue about this? I have bent the knee, she is our queen now, and you need to stop antagonizing her.”

Sansa seethed silently as Jon paced back and forth in her solar. How dare he speak to her that way? After everything she’d done to help him win the North. For him to throw it away over a beautiful woman was just so infuriatingly typical, Sansa couldn’t think straight.

“Are you fucking her, Jon?” she asked quietly, eyes staring hard at him as he came to a standstill in shock. His reaction was expected but her eyes narrowed when she saw incredulity instead of embarrassment or shame. _So he isn’t._

“So that’s what you really think of me?” Jon asked. He shook his head and clenched his fists. Sansa braced herself for the next exchange of words. More yelling, more recriminations, and more reminders of how Daenerys was his aunt, a secret he’d shared with Daenerys before recently sharing with his sisters. It was another reason for her ire with him, that he would share something like that with a stranger before his own family. But Sansa was tired of being able to see the arguments play out in her head before they happened. She’d been wrong here, so she decided to save them the trouble.

“I’m sorry, Jon. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

His fury abated but only somewhat. Jon straightened and in a firm voice said, “Is three weeks the time it takes for you to forget what we nearly lost? You know how close we came to losing the fight for the living. You know that her armies bought us the time to win. If you really can’t see that then you are not as smart as I thought you were.”

Sansa turned her head and scoffed at the slight. Of course she knew all of that. But that didn’t mean she had to like it. That didn’t mean she had to trust Daenerys Targaryen.

“Do you wish me to go apologize to her then? Are you ordering me to do that?” Sansa asked.

“We leave Winterfell for King’s Landing in eight days. For the duration of her stay, you will attend to her in the evenings.”

Sansa’s jaw dropped.

“Doing what?”

“Whatever her companion Missandei normally does for her; whatever ladies in waiting do for their queens.”

“I am not a handmaiden, Jon!” exclaimed Sansa, “I am no servant…”

“You will do exactly as ordered or so help me I will confine you to quarters and make Arya the Lady of Winterfell!”

Sansa felt her skin crawl at his tone with her. Jon rarely yelled at her, much less threatened her with punishment. She calmed herself before she asked her next question.

“Are you ordering me or is she the one who came up with this?”

Jon let out a deep frustrated sigh. “Does it matter?”

Sansa clenched her jaw. _It was Daenerys._

*::::*

Sansa walked to Daenerys’s rooms that evening with unshakeable indignation. She’d been asked to wear a more plain northern dress, one that made rolling sleeves up easier, or so she was told. If Daenerys had plans to ask her to scrub floors then she would march straight to Jon and choose confinement.

Coming to the door of Daenerys’s bedchamber, she knocked, and Missandei promptly opened it, letting her in. Sansa’s eyes made a quick pass around the room, noting that Daenerys kept it neat and hadn’t tried to adjust any of the decoration to make it more lavish or Targaryen. In spite of herself, she nodded inwardly in approval. She had noticed the bath tub on one side of the room partially blocked off by a screen but hadn’t realized Daenerys was in it until she spoke.

“Thank you for coming, Lady Sansa.”

_As if I had a choice_, thought Sansa, but she said nothing.

Servants came into the room with small plates of food and arranged them on a table before making their exit. Sansa looked at the food and wondered if she was expected to serve Daenerys while she bathed. She would not make it easy for Daenerys by asking so she stayed still and silent.

Missandei walked over to the tub and knelt down beside it. Sansa heard the light splashing and understood that Missandei was washing Daenerys. She began to feel uncomfortable but didn’t know why. Then Sansa realized it was because of the soft sighs she heard coming from the tub. They sounded sensual and a small bolt of fear made her wonder if something more than bathing was happening behind that screen.

“Come closer, Lady Sansa,” said Daenerys breathily.

Sansa clutched her hands together in front of her and walked towards the tub so that she stood enough behind the partition that she could see Daenerys’s legs but not her upper body. Missandei was using a cloth to rub down Daenerys’s legs and Sansa released a breath in relief that the sighs she’d heard Daenerys make were not what she’d thought at all. Sansa scolded herself and questioned why her mind went to that in the first place.

“Come around the screen, please. I wish to see you as we talk.”

Resisting an angry huff, Sansa took a few steps so that she was now standing beside the tub. She looked straight ahead, trying to maintain some semblance of decorum. Feeling Daenerys’s eyes on her, Sansa could tell without seeing that she was amused. Missandei continued the bathing and Sansa grew impatient at the silence.

“Am I to stand here all night, your Grace?” Sansa asked finally, angry at herself for being the one to break the silence. She finally looked down so that she could look Daenerys in the eyes, noticing how her hair had been tied up with a few loose tendrils touching the water, the water level just below her collar bone. But she was reclined. If she sat up then Sansa would see far more below that collar bone.

There was a smile in Daenerys’s eyes but none on her lips.

“You will stand here all night if I wish it, Sansa,” Daenerys answered, dropping her title, which made the corner of Sansa’s mouth twitch in anger. “But I do not wish it. Right now, what I want is for you to watch Missandei bathe me. You will be fulfilling this task tomorrow evening so I thought it prudent you have some preparation.”

Without thinking, Sansa let her eyes sweep over Daenerys’s body in the tub and met Missandei’s eyes in what was surely a stunned expression. Braiding hair, dressing her, even having to make light conversation, all of these things she’d expected. Sansa had also braced herself for picking up clutter and turning down the bed. But Sansa hadn’t been prepared to have to see and touch Daenerys so intimately.

“Does your Grace make it a habit of bathing multiple days in a row?”

Daenerys laughed and it made Sansa feel her own disadvantage. She’d been impertinent and hoped to spark anger and an early dismissal. But apparently whatever humiliation Daenerys had planned for her would not be deterred by any of Sansa’s typical challenging behavior.

“As you know, I had cause to draw a weapon in an attempt to defend myself and my friend Jorah Mormont against the dead. It taught me how woefully unprepared I am for hand to hand combat in the event I am thrown from Drogon during battle. I should’ve started sooner but my injuries and my grief at his loss… Well, with my remaining time here I’ve asked for defensive training. Your sister and Ser Brienne have agreed to instruct me and while there is no time to be proficient before King’s Landing, I will at least be more prepared. And as instruction will be daily, I have no doubt the soreness and bruises that I take on, as well as grime and sweat, will be eased by a hot bath.”

Sansa sighed, resigning herself to her fate for the week. She glared at Missandei to get on with it rather than reply. Folding her arms across her chest she forced herself to watch Missandei’s hands glide over Daenerys with the washcloth. The water level was high enough that she wasn’t exposed to complete nudity but Sansa still felt a strange flush go through her whenever Missandei dipped her hand to rub Daenerys’s thighs below the water. Sansa knew Daenerys was watching her so she steeled herself against any visible reactions.

Then Daenerys sat up so that Missandei could do her back. The soft sighs returned and Sansa tried to stay focused on where the washcloth was but her eyes kept darting to Daenerys’s chest. Her skin was so pale, the water making it shine, and the water crested in small waves at her body’s movements, rising up to cover her breasts then dipping low to reveal them. Sansa hadn’t realized she’d been biting her lower lip until she saw Daenerys’s nipples begin to harden and she released her lip in a gasp, at the same time shooting a look into Daenerys’s eyes, knowing that her gasp had been heard.

Daenerys’s expression appeared neutral but the more Sansa stared the more she saw how Daenerys seemed to be forcing a steady breath. Her eyes had darkened somewhat but that could be the shadows from the candlelight. Sansa tried to keep her own breath steady in response, willing her body to hide her racing heart and the tightness she felt low in her stomach. But from the tilt in Daenerys’s head, Sansa felt completely transparent. Daenerys knew exactly what her body was doing. She knew because Daenerys reclined again, allowing Missandei to wash her chest, her eyes closely watching Sansa to observe her response. It was too much for Sansa and she had to look away, feeling the blush rise up her neck.

“That will be all, Sansa. You may leave,” Daenerys said softly.

Feeling a wave of relief, Sansa practically curtsied in thanks and when she realized what she was doing, promptly stormed out, more flustered than she’d ever been in her life.

::

Daenerys smiled softly to herself as Missandei raised herself back to sit on the stool beside the tub.

“Did you see that?” Missandei asked in an amazed whisper.

“I did,” replied Daenerys, standing up to be toweled off by Missandei, trying to make sense of how she didn’t see it before. She knew there had to be a deeper reason for all the animosity Sansa threw at her but never in her wildest dreams…

Missandei’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “It would be unwise to pursue. The goal was to humiliate and bring Lady Sansa to heel, with Jon Snow’s approval. He won’t like his sister being toyed with in this way.”

Daenerys hummed noncommittally as she stepped out of the tub and Missandei helped her into her robe. Ordering Sansa Stark around as a servant was one thing but she would never force Sansa in that way, not if she truly didn’t want to. Seeing how deep her attraction went, on the other hand... inspiring more uncomfortable arousal… it was a situation that Daenerys found irresistible, especially the way Sansa was biting her lip as she eyed her breasts. Daenerys felt flushed just thinking about it. If Sansa wanted her as much as she thought she did, then she was fairly certain Sansa would not be going to her brother about any of this.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sansa avoided Daenerys for all of the next day. She had been tempted to observe the training session but decided that she hadn’t fully recovered from the previous night’s encounter. Silence and reflection were what she needed to brace herself for her task tonight. Jon had asked her what Daenerys wanted of her but Sansa didn’t know how to answer. She waved him away with something about lady matters and he seemed to accept that and didn’t ask for more details.

When it came time to go to Daenerys’s rooms, she almost didn’t go. But deep within herself, she felt a strange curiosity. Would she let something happen? Would Daenerys want something to happen? These little questions fluttered around Sansa’s mind as she tried to suppress her body's excitement. It would not do for her to respond in the way she had the previous night, though she knew the battle would be made harder because her hands would actually be on the queen tonight. _Be angry at her, Sansa. She is humiliating you_.

She knocked on the door and Missandei answered. Daenerys was standing by her bed in a robe and Sansa could see that she was not wearing anything underneath. Instead of remaining in the room, Missandei left. She and Daenerys were alone.

“How was the training session earlier today, your Grace?” asked Sansa politely.

“Rigorous. Your sister is unrelenting,” replied Daenerys with a tired voice.

Sansa chuckled lightly and nodded. _That’s not being angry, Sansa._

She looked around and saw the small plates of food and a half-full goblet of wine. The tub was in the same location but the screen was removed. Sansa looked back towards Daenerys expectantly.

Daenerys had obviously seen her glance at the food and said, “Sometimes I can’t sleep at night and find that nibbling on something helps distract me from unpleasant thoughts.”

Sansa hummed in understanding. “I have nightmares, too.” She said nothing more for an extended amount of time and she could see that Daenerys was becoming slightly irritated with the stilted conversation.

“Shall we begin, Lady Sansa?”

Sansa looked to the tub nervously and nodded.

“Then by all means,” Daenerys said, walking towards the tub. “I shall require your help to get in. I feel the soreness already coming over me.”

Daenerys quickly removed her robe and Sansa was able to hold a neutral expression as she walked over to her, holding her hand out which Daenerys took as she stepped into the tub and sank into the water with a tense sigh. Daenerys splashed her face with water and Sansa felt a little more at ease with the familiarity of cleansing oneself. She would accomplish this task without letting Daenerys get to her.

“Did you add salts to the water, your Grace?” asked Sansa as she looked for the soap and washcloth on the small table beside the tub.

“Missandei did. Hopefully it will help.”

“Do you wish to wash your hair tonight as well?”

“Hmmm, does it look terrible?” Daenerys asked, looking up at her.

Sansa laughed lightly. “There’s a bit of dirt.”

“Ah. Well that would be your sister again. She knocked me down more than once. I half-expect each time was on behalf of a perceived slight against you,” Daenerys said breathily. Then her gaze hardened. “Did you say anything to her… about…?”

Sansa looked down away from the glare. “I said nothing. But I imagine she knows of this punishment regardless.”

Daenerys opened her mouth as if to speak but then closed it and only nodded. She reached up to undo the pins holding her hair up and let it fall. Sansa held out her hand for the pins and felt a tingle at the feeling of Daenerys’s fingertips against her palm.

“Wash my hair first. Then my legs and work your way up,” said Daenerys firmly. There was something in her eyes that didn’t display any of the feeling her words held but Sansa still bristled at the order.

“Very well, your Grace,” answered Sansa tersely, rolling up her sleeves, moving the low stool behind Daenerys, and sitting down.

The hair washing had gone quickly and silently. It was easy enough to concentrate when she was positioned behind Daenerys’s head. But when she’d rinsed the last of the soap out of Daenerys’s hair, and wrung it out as best as she could, it was time to move to the side. She moved to Daenerys’s right and Sansa found it difficult to find a spot to focus on. Turning leftward and she met knowing eyes, turning rightward and out poked Daenerys’s legs, reminding her of what lay below the water.

“The water is cooling, Sansa,” said Daenerys, a hint of annoyance in her voice, but when Sansa turned to glare at her, she saw something else in her eyes. _Is that nervousness?_

Grabbing the cloth and the soap, she lathered it up and proceeded to rub down Daenerys’s feet and lower legs. She’d gone fast at first but at a groan of disapproval from Daenerys, she slowed down. It wasn’t really that bad and Sansa found herself making sure she was actually washing her. When she moved to her upper legs, Sansa darted her eyes to Daenerys, who was watching her hand, and she noted a raised eyebrow when she slowly rubbed the cloth along her inner thigh and toward her center. Sansa knew her breathing had shallowed and a part of her fought to pull her hand back but the other part wanted to see what Daenerys would do, how far she would let her go.

Daenerys grabbed her wrist and said, “Last.”

Sansa suppressed a roll of her eyes and washed her thighs and stomach then moved to her arms. Her eyes darted to her breasts but Daenerys sat forward, intending her back to be next. Sansa exhaled in relief but knew the reprieve wouldn’t last long. She would have to do her chest next.

“Rub harder on my back, Sansa,” said Daenerys. Sansa felt her anger rise at this latest command. She’d always made it a point to voice her commands as requests to her servants, valuing the dignity of those who served her. Daenerys was making no such allowances and Sansa wondered if she was that way with all servants or just with her. Sansa rubbed harder on the back of her neck, her shoulders, and down her back.

When Daenerys was satisfied, she reclined, and looked up at Sansa. The humor in her eyes returned and Sansa knew she was wondering if she would have to order Sansa to wash her chest. Sansa looked down at the flesh barely breaking through the surface of the water, the water not hiding what lay beneath. She pursed her lips and brought the cloth to her upper chest and neck, rubbing slowly but firmly in loose circles before moving downward across Daenerys’s right breast. When Daenerys released a soft sigh, Sansa stilled for a moment but didn’t pull away. The heat rose on her cheeks, though, and Sansa knew she was blushing but she continued, making sure she was thorough and wouldn’t have to be ordered to do it again. She did the same for her left breast and Daenerys’s soft sighs became more frequent and Sansa couldn’t resist looking up to make eye contact. Her eyes had darkened but they were otherwise unreadable. Sansa felt daring and without warning began dragging the cloth downward to the place Daenerys had indicated to be last. Before she reached her target, however, Daenerys grabbed her wrist again and held it.

“I’ll do this,” Daenerys whispered, not looking at her as she took the cloth from Sansa and washed herself. Sansa felt an unfamiliar pang of something resembling affection. At the very least, Sansa would not be made to pleasure her against her will. In other parts of her body, yes; the way she’d responded to Sansa’s touch on her breasts was obvious, and Sansa admittedly enjoyed that too, but Daenerys had drawn a line at her sex and Sansa was grateful.

Daenerys held out her hand and Sansa took her arm and helped pull her up to stand. Then Sansa grabbed a towel and began drying her off. She toweled the more sensitive parts of Daenerys’s body quickly then she grabbed a smaller towel to help dry her hair, then helped her out of the tub. It was all done wordlessly and when Sansa was done she went to the chair which held her nightgown but Daenerys spoke.

“Not yet. There are oils on this stand next to me. Choose one and rub me down.”

Sansa glared angrily at her, no longer caring that Daenerys stood there nude. The washcloth had at least provided a kind of barrier but now Sansa would have to really touch her. She glanced at the door, seeing that it remained unbolted. The door to the adjoining solar was also unbolted.

“Is there a chance that we will be interrupted, your Grace?” Sansa asked, worried about how it would look if Missandei or someone else came in and saw them.

“Why Lady Sansa… is something untoward going to happen?” Daenerys had that grin on her face that Sansa wanted to slap right off.

She walked towards Daenerys until she was just out of arm’s reach. Slowly dropping her eyes and taking in Daenerys’s body, letting them linger on her patch of curls and then on her breasts, she looked up into now uncertain eyes. Sansa tilted her head, wordlessly asking her question again, implying that she would not touch her without an answer.

“I’ve ordered that we not be disturbed during these evenings together. No one will come in,” admitted Daenerys, her confession revealing to Sansa that she too had worried over what may occur.

Sansa felt satisfied with that and looked down at the small table next to Daenerys, noting the three small bottles. She took a calming breath and lifted one to smell it. The faint scent of roses hit her and Sansa couldn’t control her reaction. She closed her eyes and images of gardens and soft brown hair came to her. Pushing those memories away, she slowly replaced the bottle on the stand and moved to the next one, ignoring how closely Daenerys was watching her. The second bottle smelled like almond and Sansa put it down without reaction. The third bottle smelled like lemons and mint. It was familiar and comforting and she poured several drops into her hand. Sansa could tell Daenerys wanted to say something but Sansa wordlessly lowered herself to her knees and began rubbing the oil into Daenerys’s legs. Standing up, she poured more oil into her hands and then rubbed Daenerys’s arms and then stomach. Moving behind her, she rubbed the oil into her back. Daenerys’s soft sighs returned and Sansa tried to ignore the flutter those sighs made her feel. When she was done, Sansa made to put the stopper back in the bottle.

“You missed a spot,” Daenerys said softly, a smirk on her lips.

Sansa huffed angrily. She’d hoped Daenerys would let her get away with avoiding her breasts but apparently Daenerys’s mercies were limited. She poured more oil into her hand and stood in front of Daenerys, hesitating.

“Really rub it in, too. I like my skin to feel soft as well as scented.”

If Sansa could kill with a look, she was sure Daenerys would be dead where she stood. She rubbed the oil between her hands then placed them on Daenerys’s upper chest, moving upward towards her neck and then gradually working down. She held eye contact, though. Sansa decided to not be the first to look away. Rubbing slowly and in a circular motion, she dragged her hands down over Daenerys’s breasts, the palms of her hands burning as she felt her hardened nipples. Her skin was so soft and felt impossibly warm. _I want her_. It felt good to finally admit that to herself. Daenerys was pressing her lips together, trying to appear calm, but Sansa could see the concentration, the intense focus not to appear to enjoy it. Sansa’s own lips were parted, her breathing ragged, and she knew she was hiding nothing but she didn’t really care. She wanted a reaction from Daenerys and knew her revealed arousal would be the easiest way to get it. Sansa wasn’t really rubbing the oil in anymore as much as kneading her breasts, sweeping her thumbs across her nipples, trying to ignore the pulsing need between her legs. When Sansa finally released a small moan of pleasure, Daenerys’s eyes fluttered closed and she turned her head to try to bite back a whimper but she failed miserably. Sansa narrowed her eyes in triumph and dropped her hands.

On weak legs, Sansa walked to where she’d left the towel that she’d used to dry Daenerys and wiped her hands.

“Will that be all, your Grace?” Sansa asked, not looking at her.

“Yes. Thank you,” answered Daenerys, who grabbed the nightgown and held it to her chest.

Sansa wished her a good night and walked out. Only out in the corridor did she allow herself to shake in frustrated desire. She’d wanted to do so much more to Daenerys. It had been absolute torture. But if Daenerys’s reactions were anything to judge by, she was able to impart a little torture of her own.

::

After Sansa left the room, Daenerys pulled on the nightgown, grabbed her robe and put it on, then went to sit at her chair in front of the hearth. She suddenly had mixed feelings over this whole punishment. Humiliation had been the original goal, but when she had seen how Sansa had been affected by her naked body the first night, Daenerys had gleefully switched it up to include body oil, fully expecting Sansa to refuse or argue or at least not turn it into what it had turned into. Flustered arousal, that’s what she’d wanted; the same reaction Sansa had given on that first day, the one that made Daenerys feel giddy with how uncomfortable Sansa looked. And today it was there but there was also challenge and resolve. Sansa had accepted that her desire had been revealed and instead of trying to hide it while her hands were on her body, she used it to fuel Daenerys’s own attraction to her. Daenerys had now become the one trying to resist showing how Sansa’s touch affected her. She’d lost the upper hand. Future encounters would now be a matter of who would surrender first.

_I should stop this. But gods, her hands felt so good. And she stares at me with so much hunger in her eyes._

Missandei had been right about this being unwise to pursue, though not for the reasons Missandei had thought. It was too late to turn back now, Daenerys realized. She had liked it and wanted it to happen again. Daenerys wondered how far it would go tomorrow. She wondered how brave Sansa would be after a night of thinking how dangerous this game could be for the both of them.

*::::*

Sansa sat uneasily in the Great Hall during the midday meal the following day. Daenerys was chatting amiably with Jon, giving no indication of what had occurred the previous evening. Her normally icy regard for the queen had been replaced by directing surreptitious glances towards her when Daenerys wasn’t looking. Her queenly attire, looking collected and poised, Sansa knew exactly what she looked like underneath all of that. She knew what her nipples felt like when they were hard. She knew what her aroused sighs sounded like.

“Good day, Lady Sansa,” Daenerys whispered from behind her. Sansa turned around, so lost in her musings she’d been unaware that Daenerys had approached her. She stood up.

“Good day, your Grace,” replied Sansa. She caught a whiff of lemon and her pulse immediately quickened. Was the scent of lemons now to always remind her of soft, oiled skin? Why did she have to choose a scent she actually liked?

“If you’re not otherwise engaged, please come to my rooms earlier tonight. I fear the training sessions are more exhausting than anticipated and I wish to retire at a more reasonable hour.”

“Yes, of course,” said Sansa, glancing around to see who was listening in. She had no doubt everyone knew she was being punished by the queen but she did not want to see any knowing glances from anyone.

Daenerys nodded her head and walked back to her seat. A servant brought the dessert trays and on the one placed near Sansa were lemon cakes garnished with sprigs of mint. She looked at Daenerys who was looking at her wine with a smirk on her face. _I should’ve chosen the almond oil._

Grabbing her goblet, Sansa downed the rest of her wine and walked out of the hall.

Later, Sansa watched the afternoon training session from the balcony over the yard. She told herself it was so she would know where to look for the bruises, thus helping her avoid causing Daenerys pain during tonight’s bath, and not because she wanted to be around the queen.

Arya wasn’t holding back but surprisingly Daenerys didn’t complain or hold any hostility towards her. Arya was attempting to show her how to break out of a hold from behind, placing herself as victim and Daenerys as assailant, but after breaking from the hold Arya turned around to throw a quick punch which caught Daenerys on the lip. Sansa gripped the railing, wanting to yell at Arya for her carelessness. Daenerys looked up at her briefly as she wiped the blood off her lip and Sansa met her gaze with concern but Daenerys turned away before she could say anything. It was confusing; Sansa ordinarily would’ve felt very pleased at seeing Daenerys bloodied by her sister, and she didn’t like feeling this worry. She also didn’t like the way Daenerys had turned away from her so curtly. Resisting the urge to go down the stairs to the yard, Sansa reminded herself that she would see Daenerys tonight and she would make her pay for it; she would have her begging in her arms. Sansa let go of the railing and walked away before anyone could see her flush of excitement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely comments on the previous chapter. The story is mostly just fantasy but I have fun with the less heavy stuff, too.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Daenerys was already in the bath when Sansa entered her bedchamber. Grey Worm had opened the door for her from his post in the corridor. Sansa was surprised not to see Missandei.

“I didn’t require her this evening,” said Daenerys.

_She always seems to know what I’m thinking._

Sansa watched Daenerys for a few moments, noting that her hair was pinned up again. There would not be a need to wash it tonight, however. Walking over to the tub and kneeling down beside it, Sansa looked at the small cut on Daenerys’s bottom lip and reached a hand out before she could stop herself.

“Does it hurt?” Sansa asked, gently grazing it with her index finger. The cut was much smaller than she thought it would be but the lip was slightly swollen, which made her already full lips even more luscious looking. Sansa let her finger linger a little too long and imagined what it would be like to pull that lip into her mouth and swipe her tongue along it, tasting the tiny ridge of that cut.

Then Sansa remembered that Daenerys hadn’t answered her question and when she took in her whole face she noticed that Daenerys’s breathing was uneven. Daenerys turned her face away.

“Not at all, Lady Sansa,” Daenerys answered. “The soreness in my arms is worse.”

Sansa lowered her arm and said, “Arya should’ve been more careful.”

“Your sister is only putting me through my paces, which is something I appreciate. I don’t want to be coddled.”

Sansa furrowed her brow, trying to shake off this tenderness she felt for the queen. Coddling Daenerys was indeed not on her agenda tonight. She rolled up her sleeves, grabbed the washcloth, and got to work. Now that Sansa knew what to do, it went more efficiently and without any awkward pauses, though those soft sighs still brought a flutter to her chest. She was careful of Daenerys’s sore arms but otherwise the bath was short. The part she was most looking forward to was the body oil, having planned last night in bed what she wanted to do to Daenerys, going over in her mind which touches would likely inspire the greatest response.

After Sansa dried her off, Daenerys stood next to the stand but there were only two bottles this time. Sansa recognized the almond and the lemon mint ones. The rose oil was gone.

“I noticed how it made you sad,” said Daenerys softly.

It was a strange situation, a naked Daenerys reaching out to her in sympathy and Sansa didn’t know what to say.

“What was her name?”

Sansa looked sharply at her. She wanted to scold Daenerys for the forwardness of her question. And yet, given what they had shared thus far, along with this tenderness she still couldn’t quite push away, Sansa softened in remembrance.

“Margaery Tyrell. She befriended me while I was in King’s Landing.”

Sansa didn’t want to say more and Daenerys didn’t look as if she expected her to; of course Daenerys knew who Margaery was and what had happened to her. She stood patiently, waiting for Sansa to shake off memories and old feelings. When Sansa was ready to continue, she nearly picked up the almond oil but at the last second picked up the lemon mint oil and proceeded to rub Daenerys’s body down.

It started off the same way, legs, stomach, going more softly with her arms, and then her back, but instead of standing in front of Daenerys to do her chest, Sansa reached around from behind. She enjoyed Daenerys’s surprised gasp and Sansa smiled into her hair.

“I thought this might be better, your Grace,” Sansa whispered. “Do you approve?”

Daenerys took a few shaky breaths and then breathed out, “Yes.”

Her fingers were tentative at first, the position somehow conveying a deeper affection between them. And to Sansa’s surprise, Daenerys unraveled much more quickly this time, her hands rising up to grip Sansa’s wrists to brace herself. Soon she was leaning back into Sansa’s chest and Sansa wanted nothing more than to bite down on her shoulder. Instead she pressed her lips to the edge of her ear, letting her hot, panting breath tell Daenerys exactly what this was doing to her.

Sansa dragged her hands away from her breasts, letting her long arms wrap around her body, hands splayed across Daenerys’s chest and stomach, one hand moving up to her throat, the other grazing below her navel. She felt the pull on her wrists towards Daenerys’s breasts and Sansa obliged, squeezing and pinching gently. Daenerys raised her left hand behind her to grip Sansa by the back of the neck, leaving her right hand still on her right wrist. It felt like she was holding onto fire, Daenerys a living, breathing flame and Sansa had never wanted to burn more. _If this were real… oh gods, if this were real…_ She felt herself rubbing slightly against Daenerys, trying to relieve that pressure building up within her. Every time Sansa’s hands grazed over hardened nipples, she imagined her hand grazing over a different nub, or her tongue doing the same. She wondered if she could peak without Daenerys noticing. _Not likely_, she thought with frustration, knowing her breathing was getting increasingly ragged, trying to swallow her sighs. Sansa was so close to pulling that ear into her mouth but she had to hold on. Daenerys hadn’t begged her yet. With even more pressure than she’d previously used, Sansa rolled Daenerys’s nipples between her fingers and heard what she’d been waiting for.

“Sansa…”

Daenerys moaned her name, a plea for more, a plea to keep going. Sansa sighed and reluctantly stopped, one hand pulling Daenerys’s left hand down and her other hand lacing fingers in with Daenerys’s right. For several moments she just breathed into the back of Daenerys’s head and held Daenerys’s hands clasped to her abdomen as if in a lovers embrace, making sure she was all right, making sure Daenerys regained her composure before Sansa pulled away. It wasn’t necessary, and Sansa wasn’t sure why she cared, but in the moment it seemed too cruel and jarring to just step back entirely. But she did have to stop. Hearing her name had hit her straight between her thighs and she would not have been able to hold back for much longer and it was still about winning the game, wasn’t it?

They broke apart, trying to steady their breaths. Daenerys turned around with a question in her eyes but looked away before she could voice it. Sansa went to retrieve Daenerys’s robe and helped her into it, tying the rope herself, looking down and waiting for Daenerys to look up at her. When she did, it was Sansa’s turn to struggle with a question, the desire within her that wanted to know if she could stay.

Daenerys stepped away from her and walked to the table with the food, lifting her goblet to take a sip of wine. She stood there silently with the goblet resting against her chin for a long time and Sansa wondered if she should leave. Lowering her goblet, Daenerys said, “I wonder if these evenings have been punishment enough.”

Sansa walked over to the table and looked at the small plates of food. Daenerys’s words could be taken in several ways, the obvious one being that she’d achieved her goal of punishing Sansa, which was nowhere near the truth. This was not the lesson in humiliation Daenerys had originally meant to teach her. Another would be that Daenerys didn’t enjoy how Sansa had punished her by withdrawing after eliciting a moan; her name said with such lust that Sansa knew she’d be hearing it in her mind all night long. But Sansa knew what Daenerys really meant; whatever was happening had approached a level of intimacy that perhaps should be ended. She was indirectly asking Sansa if that’s what she wanted.

It would be a victory if Sansa accepted Daenerys’s offer to stop. And if she was that desperate for a bedmate, it might be better to find an amenable, trustworthy handmaiden and be done with it. But that wasn’t what she wanted. Sansa had discovered something about herself in the last few days; how she really enjoyed what was happening with Daenerys. No one else could compare. The physical pleasure was incredible but so was how they both resisted it, how they tried to deny themselves. It made the surrendering that much sweeter. She didn’t want that to end.

“As a matter of fact, I find them to be particularly tortuous, especially the part where we stop. Wouldn’t you agree?” replied Sansa in a low voice. They looked at each other meaningfully. Sansa reached a hand for Daenerys’s goblet and was pleased when Daenerys didn’t hesitate to give it to her. Sansa took a small sip from where Daenerys’s lips had been. Daenerys’s lips curved into a smile.

“Do you still dislike me, Lady Sansa?”

There was a long pause where Sansa wondered if she should deflect. But then Sansa pointed out to herself that she’d just had her hands all over Daenerys’s body; she couldn’t hide how she felt if she tried. However, that didn’t mean she felt safe enough to answer that question without caution.

“Isn’t it often the case that certain opinions are actually a mask for others?”

Daenerys smirked and Sansa returned the goblet, their fingers briefly touching. The unspoken question returned to Daenerys’s eyes as she took a quick glance to her bed. Sansa was tempted. But this situation, their roles… Sansa felt too much under Daenerys’s thumb to think herself on equal footing. And she would not take Daenerys, or be taken by her, under any other circumstances.

Daenerys seemed to understand and took another sip of her wine.

“Goodnight, Lady Sansa. Until tomorrow,” said Daenerys, her phrase at the end almost like a question. Did Sansa want to do this again? Would she come?

“Until tomorrow,” replied Sansa, turning around and exiting the room.

*::::*

The next night went similarly, only this time, even after she’d spent a significant amount of time rubbing oil all over Daenerys’s front side and earning a fair amount of sighs and trembling, there had been no clear sign that Daenerys had lost control as she had done the previous night. Sansa spun her around and pulled Daenerys against her.

Sansa whispered, “I wanted to do your back again. I don’t think I did a thorough job.”

“Of course. We must always be thorough,” breathed Daenerys in reply, staring up into her eyes as Sansa gently caressed Daenerys’s back. Daenerys placed her hands up behind Sansa’s neck and pressed tightly against her, lowering her head and pressing forward, Sansa’s lips lightly touching Daenerys’s forehead, before Daenerys lifted up her chin to look at her again. She was so soft, Sansa wanted to feel that skin against her body, and wished Daenerys would tell her to undress.

They stayed in that position for a while, breathing against each other, moving their faces close to each other, lips only just barely staying apart, and a whisper of a thought caught in Sansa’s throat. _Mine_.

Sansa suddenly stepped away. She had seen a hint of surrender in Daenerys’s eyes and she became afraid. What would it mean to give in? Did Daenerys care for her at all? Would she just be another of Daenerys’s conquests? At these questions, Sansa knew she had to stop. She was close to breaking, close to losing herself. While Sansa wouldn’t say she’d lost this round, she knew she’d not gotten Daenerys to lose either. And they had both come to the point tonight where continuing meant they no longer had the charade of body oil to cover their desires. She took her leave and left the room, hurrying to her chambers where she promptly stripped herself and plunged a hand beneath her smallclothes.

*::::*

Daenerys wasn’t able to concentrate during the next afternoon’s training session. She was working with Ser Brienne and after being knocked down and failing to block even the simplest of sword attacks, Brienne had said it was time to stop. Daenerys ignored the disapproving glare from Arya, who’d been watching and calling out all of her errors, and headed straight to her rooms.

Her thoughts had been filled with Sansa. The previous night’s encounter had been frustrating and she found herself wondering what she could do to break the pattern. It was obvious now what Sansa’s goal was – to get Daenerys to beg for her openly. Sansa’s touch was like silk, and she wanted to be draped in Sansa’s finery, so much so her longing became constant. Daenerys had never felt such desire for a potential lover before. She had never been denied for this long either and that by itself was oddly arousing. She was sure Sansa had no idea how her eyes gazed at Daenerys, the hunger in them, the possessiveness. Part of her knew that if she really wanted Sansa in her bed, she needed to stop this whole game and just ask her. But the other part of her was unsure. What if Sansa rejected her? What if this was part of Sansa’s plan? The game kept the risks of humiliation to a minimum. She had to think of a way to break the stalemate, though; to get Sansa to lose herself, to become as consumed by desire as she had been. Then she would know it was truly what Sansa wanted.

*::::*

That night, while Sansa oiled Daenerys’s body, she carefully avoided Daenerys’s breasts. Sansa drew immense satisfaction from Daenerys’s irritation in being denied. She didn’t really know why she refused this time. Perhaps she felt they’d gotten too carried away and was trying to convey the need for caution. Curiously, when Sansa slowly pulled away, Daenerys did not point out her omission, letting her get away with not touching her, and Sansa became the one that was frustrated. Sansa almost opened her mouth to ask, to beg, but pride prevented her. Daenerys was the one that had to beg.

Daenerys put on her robe without Sansa’s help, turned around and tied the rope, and stared hard into Sansa’s eyes. Then, in a pleasant voice, as if she were taking tea, Daenerys threw down the gauntlet.

“Kiss me, Sansa. One kiss, one place on my person, wherever you want.”

The Dragon Queen had been giving her curt orders every night and Sansa had gotten used to it but this was different. Sansa was on high alert for it being a trick but almost immediately recognized Daenerys was serious. She couldn’t stop her heavy breathing, her pounding heart, and the sound of blood rushing in her ears. Sansa was angry and flushed. The command crossed a line but it also gave her a choice. Sansa could easily place a chaste kiss on her hand or her cheek. Or she could draw out a demure sigh by placing a kiss on her shoulder or neck. The humor in Daenerys’s eyes showed disbelief that she would take her kiss lower but Sansa tried to dispel that disbelief by taking a long look at the curls between her legs. Seeing Daenerys try to hide how her legs tensed together in response to Sansa’s heated stare set her desire ablaze.

Stepping closer to Daenerys, searching her face, Sansa became breathless at the realization that Daenerys had given her more of a choice in this than she’d initially thought. There wouldn’t be a punishment if she said no and walked away, she could see it in her eyes. She also saw desire and confusion and an effort to hide both. A tenderness and respect was there, too, and Sansa’s heart leapt. _Daenerys does care_. Most of all, she saw it for what this was… a pretext, an excuse to come together without verbally revealing how much they both wanted it. Daenerys had done this for Sansa, taking on the blame, and it was why Sansa wouldn’t say no. But she wouldn’t give in without voicing some of her anger first. Because she _was_ angry. She wanted honesty, not an excuse, not a way for them to hide their true desires. And Sansa wanted Daenerys to be the first one to admit it.

“Has this been your plan all along? Not just to humiliate me but to demean me?”

Sansa walked closer to Daenerys until she towered over her, feeling her breath against her chin. Daenerys’s expression was full of defiance but also need. She didn’t speak but they both knew Sansa’s questions were more about giving the pretext bite than about truth.

“I am not your servant that you can take advantage of and I am not a bedslave,” said Sansa with even more barely restrained fury, wrapping her left arm around Daenerys’s waist and pulling her against her body. She called it fury but she knew her shaking had more to do with how warm and soft Daenerys felt against her. Daenerys brought her hands to her shoulders and Sansa had to exercise every bit of willpower she had not to kiss her on the mouth. She could tell that’s what Daenerys wanted and she would not give her that. Sansa closed her eyes and brought her right hand to the opening of Daenerys’s robe, clutching one side of the opening.

“I am the Lady of Winterfell. You will not command me to do this again, do you hear me? Do you understand, my Queen?” Sansa asked hoarsely.

There. She’d thrown her a bone and by the way Daenerys’s hands pulled at her shoulders, she could tell that Daenerys had liked how Sansa had referred to her as her queen. She had given the pretext sharper teeth with that question, both knowing her anger was actually lust, her use of titles making this struggle between them more exciting, more dangerous. And Sansa would reward Daenerys for this ruse by not squeezing as hard as she could, by not biting as hard as Sansa wanted to. But she still had to be clear that she wouldn’t let Daenerys get away with an order like this again. Sansa opened her eyes.

“Do you understand?” Sansa was urgent now; she couldn’t restrain herself any longer.

“Yes,” Daenerys whispered, trembling in anticipation. And it made Sansa want her even more.

Sansa roughly yanked open one side of the robe over her shoulder, exposing Daenerys’s left breast, the one that was most sensitive to her touch. She cupped it immediately with her right hand, using her thumb to feel her stiff nipple.

Daenerys’s eyes widened at her movements and Sansa hid a smirk.

“Anywhere I want?”

Daenerys nodded, knowing what was about to happen and closing her eyes. Sansa immediately bent down and pulled Daenerys’s breast into her mouth. Sansa heard Daenerys’s gasp and felt one of her hands grip the back of her head.

Sansa had never done this before, had never touched any woman the way she had touched Daenerys these last few days. Secret kisses and furtive touches with Margaery had never gone anywhere close to this. And it was one of the great regrets of her life, that she hadn’t been brave enough with Margaery, that she didn’t know what her skin felt like beneath those beautiful, revealing dresses. She had thought there would be more time to be brave. It didn’t matter how this came about or why but she knew she desired Daenerys and she would not be a coward now.

She sucked hard, feeling Daenerys writhe against her, trading off harsh sighs with mewling whimpers. Squeezing the flesh with her right hand, she put the nipple between her teeth and bit roughly but used her tongue to swirl around the tip, letting Daenerys know that she intended no real harm. Sansa could suddenly feel Daenerys go weak against her and she pushed her back against the bed, never breaking contact with her breast. She bit and sucked and licked and she had to remind herself not to move her mouth anywhere else, no matter how much she wanted to. Even though she knew Daenerys wouldn’t mind, Sansa would only give her this. It felt amazing, her skin, hot and wet from her tongue, the way even a soft kiss would make Daenerys shudder against her. Sansa wanted more.

Both of Daenerys’s hands were in her hair now, pulling her tightly against her, her moans and need getting stronger. Sansa was laying over her and was vaguely aware she was between Daenerys’s legs but it wasn’t until Daenerys’s moaning reached an urgency she hadn’t heard before that she realized her left hand was gripping Daenerys’s thigh against her, Daenerys’s knee at her hip, and she was rubbing herself slowly against Daenerys’s sex. Sansa halted her movements, her mouth open over Daenerys’s now raw nipple, breathing hard against it. She closed her mouth and suckled one more time and gave a rough thrust, earning a sharp cry of pleasure from Daenerys, before pushing herself away, staggering back and almost falling onto the floor. Sansa was the one that had gotten lost in it this time.

Daenerys raised herself onto her elbows, trying to catch her breath, her lust-filled eyes displaying a victorious smile at how Sansa had taken it farther than she’d intended. And the sight made Sansa gasp in heat and want. Her left breast was flushed red and had several marks that Sansa knew would last for days. Glancing down, she saw the evidence of Daenerys’s arousal on the front of her skirts. She wanted to rip her dress off and finish Daenerys right then but held herself back. Sansa closed her eyes, straightening herself and taking deep breaths. She rolled her sleeves down and tried to come back to herself, though her heart was still racing.

“Is that all, your Grace?” Sansa asked in a shaky voice. Daenerys stood up and pulled the robe back over her shoulder, retying the rope. There was no unspoken question in her eyes this time asking Sansa to stay. Daenerys understood that Sansa would not let it happen like this.

“Yes, that will be all for tonight,” Daenerys said softly.

Sansa nodded, taking another deep breath, and then turned towards the door. She was about to pull the latch when she heard Daenerys speak again.

“Would you like to come to my rooms again tomorrow evening, Sansa?”

She felt the smile spread on her face before she could stop herself, before she could slip on her mask of caution. Sansa turned around and looked into Daenerys’s eyes and could see her discomfort, but her look was also soft and inviting. There was a vulnerable hope in her eyes that made Sansa’s breath catch in her throat.

“I would like that very much, Daenerys,” replied Sansa.

And Daenerys’s small smile at her response lit a different kind of fire within Sansa. Sansa glanced down with a smirk and then asked, “Will you need me to bathe you again?”

Daenerys let out a light laugh that warmed Sansa from head to foot. “Only if you wish to do so, my lady.”

On the way back to her rooms Sansa felt both content and exhilarated. Things wouldn’t be the same between them now. Daenerys wanted her. Wanted her enough to give her that childish dare, wanted her enough to let Sansa’s kiss go as far as it did, and Sansa felt the same for her. She’d told Daenerys not to command her to do anything like that again but she knew the queen had picked up on her cue; Daenerys would ask the next time they saw each other, ensuring that all pretext and excuses would be thrown away and they could devour each other freely.

Tomorrow she would go to Daenerys wearing her proper attire. She would come as the Lady of Winterfell and watch her queen hungrily gaze at her, telling her how much she wanted her. Sansa would hear those words before letting Daenerys touch her. It would be torture for Daenerys to do so but Sansa would make it up to her afterwards. She would kiss and touch her everywhere, and explore more fully those places which stoked Daenerys’s arousal. And Daenerys would have a chance to explore Sansa’s body in return.

Sansa smirked to herself, now fully appreciative of this week’s so-called punishment. They had a couple of days left. She would make the most of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments. And for the patience. I realize it’s another kind of open-ending (sorry! lol) but I think a brief interlude of lust and hints at deeper feelings works best here.


End file.
